Boredom, Bad Moods, and Gratitude
This post is dedicated to Dr Michael Groff, a classmate and friend who passed away unexpectedly earlier this month. So many beautiful things have been said about him already, in his obituary, in remembrances from those who knew him, and I won’t try to add to them here. But I’ll just say this: he was kind, thoughtful, intelligent, hardworking, and deeply human. His life reminds me to try, in my own small way, to be the best human I can be.
This morning got off to a slow start. One of those long, gray slogs of a day-off where nothing is really wrong, but everything is just... stuck. I was waiting around for a handyman. Waiting for the mechanic to call. Waiting, really, for the day to start feeling like a day. And in the meantime, I couldn’t write. I couldn’t read. Everything I reached for felt a little too far away, like trying to grip something underwater.
It wasn’t a big deal, objectively. I wasn’t in crisis. But it still felt heavy in a way that’s hard to justify. That foggy, low-grade kind of malaise where even boredom turns into a kind of pressure. Like I was failing at my day off. Not doing enough with the time I had. Not using it "well," whatever that means.
Eventually, I picked up my guitar. I hadn’t touched it in six months. I didn’t sit down with any grand intentions, just plucked out a tune I used to like, something simple I’d never quite gotten right. And then I queued up a song I hadn’t listened to in a while, something by Beabadoobee, I think it was the perfect pair, and let the music carry me for a few minutes.
Somewhere in there, sushi arrived. I opened the container, took that first bite of buttery salmon, perfect rice, bright little slices of pickled ginger, and suddenly I was back in my body. My dog was curled up next to me. Sunlight had finally broken through the clouds. And I found myself, unexpectedly, quietly, feeling good. Really good.
What surprised me was how simple it was. I hadn’t fixed anything. I hadn’t changed my circumstances. But between the music and the meal and the company of this furry, patient little creature, I felt, for lack of a better word, grateful. Not in a performative, gratitude-journaling kind of way. Just genuinely glad to be here. To have this day, this bite, this song.
That shift made me want to write this. Not as a lesson, exactly, but as a reminder. Gratitude isn’t always some grand, spiritual exercise. Sometimes it’s just noticing the sushi, or the fact that you have a guitar to strum, or a friend who texts you something funny when you need it. The bar doesn’t have to be that high.
I’ve tried to make gratitude a daily habit before, and I’m bad at it. I forget. I get impatient. I go days, sometimes weeks, without pausing long enough to feel anything other than obligation. But on the days when I do remember, when I slow down enough to really take stock, it shifts something. I’m a little softer with myself. A little easier to be around. I work better. I love better. I come back to myself in a way that feels more like home.
There’s a growing body of research showing that gratitude isn’t just a moral good. It’s a cognitive tool. It rewires how we respond to stress, boosts our ability to cope with uncertainty, and builds what psychologists call “psychological flexibility.” It’s not a silver bullet, but it’s one of the few things that’s free, accessible, and nearly always available to us if we’re paying attention.
Still, we’re human. We forget. We wake up on holidays and mope around in our sweatpants, waiting for something to happen. That’s fine. That’s part of it too. But when the fog starts to lift, whether from a song, a meal, or a moment of movement, sometimes we get a glimpse of something better. And if we’re lucky, we notice it before it slips away.
That’s all this post is, really: a nudge to remember.
I don’t think gratitude is about being relentlessly positive. It seems to be more about making room for things like wonder or relief, or to let a little light to break through.
And sometimes, when practicing gratitude isn’t quite clicking, you might try just stepping away. Halfway through this draft, I took a walk around my neighborhood. No music, no podcast, no purpose other than to walk. I’ve been trying to do that more often, just let the walk be the walk. And it really helped. My mind cleared. The afternoon sun warmed up a little. And when I came back, I knew how I wanted to end this.